Sherlock's Weaknesses A-Z
by A Study in Reichenbach Feels
Summary: Sherlock dislikes, even hates, a lot of things. In fact, he could list them in alphabetical order.
1. A is for Auntumn Allergies

"Keep the change," John Watson told the cab driver and picked up the couple of grocery bags he had brought back with him.

"Thanks, mister." The cab pulled off. John looked up towards their flat's windows. The curtains were drawn and the windows shut tight.

John rolled his eyes and sighed. "I told him to leave the windows open…"

Dr. Watson hobbled towards the apartment door. He struggled to balance the groceries while trying to grab his keys. John leaned up against the door as he tried to unlock it. Just then, the door swung wide open. John fell flat on his face, the groceries falling everywhere.

"Damn it all!" John swore and stood up to give the person who caused this a piece of his mind.

"Oh, John! I'm so sorry!" Mrs. Hudson stuttered and bent over to help pick up the scattered groceries.

"Mrs. Hudson…" John murmured, regretting the thoughts he had prepared in the three second window. "I'm sorry-"

"I'm the one apologizing, dear. I just- well, I heard the cab pull up and Sherlock-"

"Sherlock closed all the windows and won't let anyone in, right?" John finished Mrs. Hudson's sentence.

"Yes," she replied. "How did you know?"

"I saw the closed windows on my way in," John answered, putting the last of the strewn groceries back into the bag. "I'll go see what's going on."

"Thank you, John. I don't know how I'd handle him without you here."

* * *

"Sherlock?" John finally managed to push the door to 221B open. "Sherlock, what are you doing?"

There was only a groan in reply from the couch. John heaved the groceries into the kitchen and set them onto the counter. He let out a heavy sigh as he glared at the mess on the kitchen table.

"Do you purposefully not do anything I ask you to do?" John called. "I asked you to keep all the windows open. You closed them _and_ drew the curtains. It's a beautiful autumn day, and it's getting too stuffy in here."

Another groan from the living room. John wandered in and stood by his chair, glaring at the pile of blankets Sherlock was hiding under.

"I asked you to clear off the kitchen table, too, Sherlock. We have nowhere to eat with your crap cluttering the-"

"It's _science_, John," Sherlock replied hoarsely.

"Sherlock… are you sick?"

"No-" Sherlock was interrupted by torrential coughing. John kept himself from chuckling.

"You're sick."

"I'm not sick!" Sherlock managed to reply in-between sniffles. "I just have-mild fall allergies. I'll be fine-" More coughing. John rolled his eyes and sat beside the pile.

"I'm sure you will be," he smiled, unable to help himself. Sherlock poked his head out from the pile of warm blankets and scowled.

"Would you like some tea for your throat?" John asked, still smiling. After a hesitating glare, Sherlock nodded.

John strode to the kitchen and put a kettle on the stove. _Sherlock Holmes. Who would have guessed he has allergies?_

* * *

**Different kind of idea for a story. Hoping it's a good one?**


	2. B is for Babies

"Why exactly are we making a house call, anyways?" John asked Sherlock as they got out of the cab. "Don't only doctors do that?"

"You _are_ a doctor," Sherlock replied, shutting the cab door. He paid the cabby and told him he could go ahead and leave.

"Yes," John sighed. "But you aren't. Normally clients come to you."

"And?"

"Well, it's just unusual," said John. They walked up a long brick path to the enormous house they had arrived at. John stared at the expensive real-estate.

"Are you uh-" John stuttered. "Are you sure of this address? It looks a little… rich."

"Yes, I'm sure. The woman on the phone earlier offered extra payment if we could come here so she wouldn't have to make a trip into the heart of London. Something to do with family issues. Not sure exactly, I wasn't listening the whole time."

The detective and his blogger walked up the stairs, fountains on either side, and rang the doorbell. As soon as the door was opened, a burst of noise flooded outside. Sherlock flinched at the sound. The playful screaming and hollering echoed through the house and, for a moment, Sherlock couldn't tell if there were two or two hundred of them.

"Children…" Sherlock mumbled under his breathe. John nudged him in hopes he could overcome his dislike of kids for the sake of the client. The client, as it so happened, was a beautiful lady in her mid-twenties. She barely got the door open, due to the two crying babies in both of her arms.

"Oh my goodness," the woman apologized. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't expecting you this early! Please, come in!" Their client motioned for them to enter. They did so, closing the door behind them.

* * *

A particularly loud screech reverberated through the long halls around them, followed by a desperate cry for "Mommy". The woman sighed drearily, patting the two babies who sounded even more upset than her.

"If you could be so kind, would you mind holding them for a moment while I take care of the other children?" the lady asked, holding a baby out to each of them.

Sherlock began to protest. "I don't-"

"Of course we will, Mrs…?" John interrupted Sherlock and took one of the babies in his arms.

"Oh, it's miss. I'm divorced. And call me Alena," she replied and practically shoved the other baby into Sherlock's unwilling arms before running off to hush her toddlers.

Sherlock glared at her as she ran off. "..I don't do babies," he finished the sentence he had started before John made the decision for him.

"Oh, come on, Sherlock," John teased. "What's so bad about them?"

"They're oblivious, needy, and…" Sherlock stopped to sniff the air. "…And they smell."

John felt the diaper of the baby in Sherlock's arms. "He's wet. Just needs a change."

Sherlock grimaced and held the sobbing baby by its armpits, as far away from him as he could.

John rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, it's not that bad."

"Yes it is."

"It's not. And it's not like the baby can help it."

"No, but the mother could have-"

"Alena," John added.

"-listened to me when I was trying to tell her I don't handle babies well," Sherlock eyed the baby, who seemed to be doing the same to him. "Plus, you never know what they're thinking…Wait a second," Sherlock stopped, realizing John had corrected him by using their client's first name. "You don't have a thing for her already, do you?"

"I think she's lovely," John shrugged.

"Dear God…"

"What's the matter with her? No, don't answer that-"

Sherlock had already started. "She's a stressed out mess. She is extremely irresponsible. She went to the bother of hiring a private detective _plus_ asking for us to come to her, yet she is not even ready when we arrive. She can't even keep her kids under control. With as much money as she so obviously has, the least she could do is hire a nanny to keep her kids at a minimum."

"Well," Alena said, walking up to the doctor and detective. She had heard everything. "Mr. Holmes, I'm glad you've been able to make yourself feel comfortable enough to insult me in my own home."

John glared at Sherlock, feeling any possibility of getting to know their client outside of their business there had just been squandered.

"However," Alena continued. "In answer to your question, I haven't hired a nanny because I want to be the one raising my children."

"And you're doing such a _fine _job," Sherlock groaned sarcastically and glared the baby he still held at arm's length away from him.

Alena took her babies back from them. John pointed at the one Sherlock had 'held'. "That one needs a change," he informed her.

She sighed. "Graham is always the messy one." Sherlock scowled again, earning him another nudge from John.

"We'll just wait in the living room until you're ready for our business," Sherlock advocated. Alena nodded and led them to the luxurious living room.

"Would you mind if I helped?" John asked Alena. "Two babies is a lot to handle at once."

"Oh, I don't know…" she hesitated.

"Don't worry, I'm a doctor," he informed her.

"Are you?" her face lit up.

John nodded. "An army doctor. Served in Afghanistan."

Alena smiled at him. "Well, doctor, I suppose an extra pair of hands would be helpful. Follow me."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and plopped into one of the sofas. John could change all the diapers he wanted. He was there for a case, which his mind so desperately needed.

* * *

**I always figured Sherlock wouldn't know what to do with babies. He can't read them like normal adults.  
**


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